


a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Come Swallowing, D/s elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Mildly Messy Feelings, Orgy, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Variable Condom Use, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Nicke’s got a beer in one hand, uses the other to wrap his arm around Andre’s waist, grips his hip and pulls him in close, as close as he can be.He tucks his face in the crook of Andre’s neck and hugs him tight, exactly like he’d done on the ice just hours before.“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, raw and genuine, just for Andre to hear.





	a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me

**Author's Note:**

> Technically set in the same universe/timeline as [dry the stain like me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726651) but can totally be read all on its own without reading the previous!

****The energy doesn’t stop, not after the trophy presentation, not after they’ve all showered and gotten dressed, not after the media, and definitely not after they’ve boarded their flight.

They’ve got a private charter, so most of the team skips out of the cabin completely, leaving their bags wherever and heading straight to the back, to the lounge area, where Alex is still clutching the Prince of Wales in one hand, a freshly iced bottle of champagne in the other.

Andre joins in, of course, and ends up settling in Nicke’s lap, because it seems right, because everyone’s on top of each other and so close and there isn’t anywhere else to sit, anyway, so it’s really just convenient, actually. Plus Nicke can’t get mad at him, not when the energy is so high, pulsating as a collective throughout the entire room.

And he’s right, because Nicke doesn’t even think anything of it, makes more room for him, even. He’s looking at him, _smiling_ at him, like he’s something to be proud of, something he’s honored to have in his lap.

Nicke’s got a beer in one hand, uses the other to wrap his arm around Andre’s waist, grips his hip and pulls him in close, as close as he can be. He tucks his face in the crook of Andre’s neck and hugs him tight, exactly like he’d done on the ice just hours before.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, raw and genuine, just for Andre to hear.

And it has to be the high of the win, throwing everything Andre knows out the window and fucking all reservations in the room off to shit. It has to be that, because there’s no other explanation for what Nicke does next.

For when Nicke leans up and up and up until he’s got his lips pressed to Andre’s, anything but chaste.

He’s surprised, of course he is, but Nicke’s kissing him for the first time in forever, so Andre melts into it quickly enough, opens his mouth almost instantly, just to let Nicke in.

And there’s cheering and whistles around them, because their team is actually just a bunch of assholes. Nicke doesn’t pull away, though, he goes deeper, gets his hand in Andre’s hair and fully utilizes the grip. Andre lets him, lets him put on a show and lets their friends watch. The attention is kind of thrilling, a new wave of adrenaline to add to the high.

The attention’s all on him, and, still riding that high, he’s kind of more than okay with that.

He doesn’t know when the room quiets down, doesn’t know when the mood shifts, when everyone else makes an agreement, reaches the same conclusion. He doesn’t know how long he’s been making out with Nicke in front of everyone, moaning into his mouth like a wanton coquette, echoing off the walls for everyone to hear.

He doesn’t know how much times passes before there’s hands on each side of his head, replacing Nicke’s. Hands that tilt him all the way back until he’s looking straight up, straight at Tom, who hovers over him.

Nicke shifts a little bit from under him, but is careful to keep him balanced, keeping one arm loosely around him. There’s kissing noises, wet and shameless, so Andre looks out the corner of his eye, sees Alex standing there, kissing Nicke wet and dirty.

He doesn’t keep the view for long, though, because then Tom’s there again, kissing him like this, head almost upside down. It’s needier than Nicke, hungry and pushy and maybe a little selfish, but Andre’s into it. Leans into it.

Tom’s always been like this, always just dives right in and takes what he wants. But it’s not unfamiliar to Andre, he’s ready for it, expects it, even, so he doesn’t even react when Tom gets his arms around him and tugs until he can manhandle him down and down, into the couch.

It’s good because Tom can get on top of him now, can press his full weight into Andre while he’s got his mouth on him, gradually moving from kisses to little bites and sucks along his jawline, over his throat. It feels good to feel so surrounded, so encompassed, even if it’s still just Tom.

Besides, somewhere deep down, he knows that if he doesn’t focus on Tom, doesn’t focus on what he’s doing to him, _for him_ , he’ll look over see Nicke with Alex, and Andre doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Tom bites him a little harshly, the way Andre likes it sometimes, and it brings him back into a sharper focus, one that’s completely and wholly on Tom and nothing else. Not Nicke and Alex, and not even the audience of teammates watching him unravel apart.

“Hey,” Tom pulls back for a second to tug off his shirt, then Andre’s. He grins at him, comes back until their faces are just inches apart. “Nice pair, bud.”

Andre groans, “don’t call me ‘bud’ when you’re making out with me.”

But Tom just laughs, nips at his collarbone and then kisses it sweet. “Just take the compliment, Andre, you were fucking amazing.”

Andre is about to say something, to keep pushing at it, but it’s all choked off because Tom is back down, lapping around one Andre’s nipples, teasing until it hardens and all Andre can feel is electricity spreading like a shock from his chest to the furthest parts of his body.

“Fuck, Tommy,” Andre whines, his voice cracking at the end. He turns his head to the side, overwhelmed, but is met with the image of Nicke and Alex, and now Braden, too, tangled together in a heap, taking up the other half of the couch.

Just as it starts to process, there’s a hand on his chin, big and warm and firm, angling him in the other direction, toward the edge of the couch. And there’s Devante, kneeling on the ground and leaning onto the edge, looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world.

Andre breathes in sharply, a soft whoosh, and it makes Tom laugh from where he’s still working at his chest, nipping lightly over his nipples and pausing to leave little half-marks all over him. Devante’s grinning, too, and then he’s leaning in, kissing Andre where his lips are already sensitive and red.

It’s different, so much more different than Nicke and Tom. Devante is and sweet with him, careful to go slow and make it good. It’s soft and _loving_ and it’s a lot, it’s not what Andre usually gets, not what he usually does, but that’s what draws him in. That’s what makes it nice.

It’s definitely a contrast, when Devante kisses him light and gentle while Tom’s still going at it, leaving bite marks and hickeys all over him, marking him up without so much of a second thought. Andre is overwhelmed with a wave of awe, overwhelmed with the concentration of attention on him, all on him.

He hears Nicke moan, deep and throaty like he does, somewhere in the background, but he’s already too far deep to dwell on it. Too far deep to think about anything other than the tongue tracing his teeth and the teeth tracing his nipples.

Tom bites down particularly hard and Andre yelps, the sound ringing high, punched out of him.

“Tell me what you want, babe,” Tom says, now that he has Andre’s attention. “Anything you want, you deserve it.”

But it’s too much, Andre can’t focus on one thing, can’t find the words to express the feeling of… of… just _needing_ , a feeling that’s pulsating in his head, in his body, in his—

“Do you want us to decide, baby?” Devante’s moved to gently nip at his ear, pressing small kisses into his hair, big fingers massaging his scalp. Andre melts into it, leans into the touch because that’s good, that’s perfect, that’s something he definitely wants, even if it’s not _the_ thing he wants. So Andre nods, a quick bob of his head.

There’s some rustling and shifting, but Andre closes his eyes and just focuses on how it feels, how it goes through his head, filtered but intense, so fucking intense. He hears hushed whispers above him, hears even more to the side.

He keeps forgetting that all the guys are here, that the whole team is _here_ and watching him, but every time he remembers it’s like a fresh jolt, a new wave of excitement, rejuvenating and fresh.

Focused on the thought and drifting deeper into his own head, Andre startles when he feels hands on him, two pairs; one tugging off his pants and his briefs, the other grabbing his wrists, loose but firm, certain.

He blinks until he sees Devante hovering over him, now kneeling on the couch in nothing but his briefs. He carefully resettles Andre until he’s got his head in his lap, until he can comfortably hold Andre’s wrists, crossed, at his waist, just above Andre’s head.

And Andre’s openly looking him over, taking in the expanse of his skin, stretched over taught muscle. Devante notices, but doesn’t tease him, just smiles a little and pats his head.

But then he feels a hand at his dick, gripping the base, thumbing at his balls. He peers down as best he can, catches a glimpse of Tom there between his legs, concentrated on the task at hand.

Tom gets his mouth on him, just the tip for now, but it melts Andre into a puddle, makes him throw his head back and groan, guttural and loud, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care that everyone is watching him fall apart like this.

He doesn’t care because it does something for him, makes his dick twitch, makes his head spin in just the right way.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy—”

“Yeah?” Tom comes up just to grin at him, smug and cocky. Andre would challenge it under any other circumstance but all he wants is that feeling, Tom’s _mouth_ , back as soon as possible.

This, of course, just comes out as a single, breathy, “ _Please._ ”

“Since you asked,” Tom shrugs, then goes back down, deeper this time, then comes back to just the tip so he can hallow his cheeks and suck and suck and suck.

Andre squirms and tries to turn, but Devante holds him down, keeps him in place. It’s mostly with his hands, still holding on to Andre’s wrists, but he’s also got his knees braced up on either side of Andre’s head, holding him steady and still between strong muscles.

Tom is steadily bobbing up and down now, gradually taking a little bit more each time. Andre’s gone on it, can’t control the little whimpers that escape from his mouth. But Devante squeezes his wrists, just to remind him he’s there, and then leans down, muffling Andre’s little noises with kisses, instead.

It’s a lot, having both Tom and Devante taking him apart like this at the same time. Especially when Devante sucks hard on his lip at the exact same time that Tom takes him all the way down and holds, humming just because he knows exactly what it does to him.

Andre tries to buck up into the wet heat of it, all reflexes, but Tom knows him, knows his body well enough to anticipate it, already holding him down at the hips, keeping him firmly in line.

Tom comes back up, sucks at the the tip once, and then goes all the way back down again, a perfect rhythm. Andre’s lost in it, achingly hard and so close, chasing after the heat in his stomach.

And then there’s a hand on his chest, rubbing up and down his side, then his front, brushing harshly over his nipples, his navel. Devante still keeps his wrists held in one hand, a firm fist, but the other continues to roam and roam and roam, cataloguing every dip and curve of Andre’s body.

It’s a lot at once, enough stimulation to send him in to overdrive, the pool of want in his stomach churning and churning until it’s too much, until it’s enough to push him over the edge. He whines, makes noises that were meant to be words, tries to warn them.

But Tom just rubs circles on his hip bones, starts going faster and faster while Devante kisses him again, swallowing up his desperate sounds. So Andre comes like that, pinned into the cushions with Devante’s lips on his and Tom’s lips around his dick.

Tom swallows it all down, wipes his mouth off on the back of hand, like it’s all just in a day’s work. But then he’s sitting up and tugging Andre up, too, Devante helps to push him until he’s sitting up and almost on top of Tom.

Once they’re close enough, Tom doesn’t hesitate, grabs Andre’s chin and tugs him in for the kiss. He goes for it immediately, making sure Andre can taste himself on Tom’s tongue, making sure it’s been pressed into every corner of his mouth.

They make out lazily for a while, long enough for Andre to get his hands on Tom’s dick, tugging him off. It’s not his best work, possibly one of the worst handies he’s ever given, but it’s languid and chill and feels right for the moment.

Besides, Andre’s still a little blissed out and Tom definitely isn’t complaining, especially not when he finally comes, getting it all over himself and Andre’s hand. Andre continues to pump him through it, kisses him even when he’s done.

He’s so focused on Tom that he doesn’t notice someone else come up behind him, doesn’t expect when big arms wrap around him from behind, pulling him into a new lap, pulling him into a new kiss.

When he cranes his neck enough to look, it’s Alex, of course it’s Alex. Andre spares a glance around the room, isn’t subtle about it, but he doesn’t care all that much. Everyone knows, anyway. They’re all watching him now, some of them with their dicks out, some of them lending hands to one another. Devante is still in the corner and Andre notices that he’s already come, somehow, but is still watching him, still watching the show.

And then there’s Nicke.

Nicke’s watching him, just like the rest of them, but there’s something more there, some kind of strangled look, like he’s holding something back, like he’s desperate to bury it down, hide it. But Andre likes to think he knows him well enough by now, likes to think he knows that look.

So Andre holds his gaze, blinks once, and licks his lip.

Then promptly begins to make out with Alex with a renewed enthusiasm, attacks it like a challenge. Alex is into it, holds him closer, possessive almost, and tugs on his hair. Andre kisses him so hard that he thinks he might bruise. It’s wet and sloppy and dirty. He can’t physically see Nicke right now, but it’s almost scary, how clearly he can picture exactly what he must look like.

When he hears Nicke groan — an accident, half-stifled — he can’t help but feeling a little smug.

Alex must pick up on it, pick up on _something_ , too, because he grins against Andre’s lips and lets his hands wander lower and lower, tracing patterns on his side, outlining the juts and crooks along his spine. Lower and lower and lower until one’s spreading his cheeks and one’s circling his hole.

“Lube,” someone — _Nicke_ — grunts, leaning in until he’s close enough to uncap the little tube, dribbling it over Alex’s fingers, down Andre’s crack. It’s messy and a little gross but Andre doesn’t even have time to think about it because Alex doesn’t waste time, Alex just goes for things.

Alex pushes a finger into him, all the way, and grins when Andre whines, high and breathy.

“You’ve got it,” Alex says, low and rumbly, “that’s my boy.”

And that’s— wow, that’s a lot. Andre can feel the heat in his cheeks, can feel himself absolutely unravel in Alex’s hands. He adds another finger, quickly pumping them in and out, scissoring every so often, accompanied by little kisses on Andre’s neck.  

“Please,” Andre manages, basking in the pleasure, despite it being too soon for him to start getting hard again.

He doesn’t even know what he wants, just that he _wants_.

“Shh,” Alex hums into his skin, sneaks in another finger. “Let your captain take care of you. You deserve it. So good, Andre, you’re so good to us.”

His body has long melted into Alex, but now his mind does, too. There aren’t any words he’s capable of forming, not right now, but he whines, presses his forehead into the heat of Alex’s skin, and hopes he gets the message.

He does, because he angles his fingers, curves them just a little, and— _fuck_.

There it is.

Andre can’t help it, can’t catch himself in time. He groans, loud, high and shuddering. It’s clear enough for the whole room to hear, punched out of him and leaving him breathless.

“Fuck,” someone says, Andre can’t tell who. “Fucking perfect,” says another.

“There you go, take what you need, baby,” Alex reels him back in, pressing the words into his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. “Anything you want, you can have it. You earned it, Andre, you did so good.”

Andre doesn’t bother trying to talk, just keens, breath heavy. He lets Alex’s words process and then, once they click, allows himself to push down on Alex’s fingers, driving them deeper and deeper. He lifts and does it again, then again, riding Alex’s hand, desperately searching for something, some kind of pleasure. He’s only just starting to chub up again, but it’s rapid, intense.

It’s overwhelming, but in the best way.

Alex keeps whispering soft praises, lips brushing his ear. It’s low enough that no one else can hear it, it’s just for him. It does something for Andre, he can’t lie, makes his chest swell up and fills him with some kind of warmth.

Eventually, Andre’s thighs start to quiver, vaguely fatigued. Alex notices right away, pulls his fingers out, even as Andre makes sounds of protests, even as Andre desperately clenches around them, tries to keep them inside.

“It’s okay,” Alex reassures him, “Patience, Andre.”

It’s enough for Andre to recollect himself enough to get his brain to function properly again, enough for him to pout. “You said anything I want,” he frowns, maybe a little dramatic. A little too sad.

Alex is about to say something but Nicke’s suddenly there, nudging him. “You’ll get it eventually, baby, I promise.” And then he kisses him, slow, not quite chaste, but with no intent other than to calm him down. “Can you trust us to take care of you?”

It startles Andre, the sincerity in the question. He looks at Nicke, studies his face, searches his eyes. It’s deeper than the present moment, deeper than his immediate pleasure. Nicke sees him, watches him, knows that he understands what he’s truly asking.

“I trust you,” Andre finally says. “Now and always.”

Nicke lets out a breath, finally relaxing. Alex takes that as his cue and slips out from under Andre, letting him settle into the give of the cushions.

“That’s good, Andre. That’s very good.” Nicke pauses, looks around the room, then back at Andre. “Are you ready?”

Andre nods, and apparently the rest of the room had been watching for it, because Chris and Jakub step up, a little nervous but more than eager. It’s kind of cute, Andre smiles at them, reassuring.

“Hey,” he grins, cocks his head at Jakub until he gets it, until he leans in and kisses him once. “Want me to suck you off? And Juicey can fuck me?”

“Chris, please,” Chris cuts him off, bright red and fidgeting.

So Andre nods, “Chris, I mean.”

“Yeah that sounds—” Jakub stops, coughs awkwardly. “That sounds good.”

So Andre makes it easy for them, slides onto the carpet and gets on his knees, positioning himself in front of Jakub until he gets with it and kneels, shimmying off his pants at the same time. He’s already hard, red and leaking, so Andre leans on his elbows and gets to work, taking the tip in his mouth and lapping up the precome collecting there.

“Holy shit, holy _shit_ ,” Jakub gasps from above him, hands flying to grip Andre’s hair, one fist on each side. “You’re so fucking good at this, ‘Dre, oh my god.”

Andre swirls his tongue around the tip, flicks at the slit, making it good for Jakub. He focuses on the pull in his hair, bobs halfway down, just a couple times, but inevitably decides to focus on the tip, the way Jakub seems to enjoy.

At some point, he feels Chris come up behind him, feels his big hands on each of his cheeks, spreading him, just to take in the sight of his hole, probably already a little puffy, sloppy with lube. He wiggles his ass, playful, inviting. Chris inhales sharply, loud enough for Andre to hear it, loud enough to make him laugh a little bit around Jakub’s cock.

Which, of course, causes Jakub to whine, embarrassingly high and desperate, the tug in Andre’s hair going impossibly tight, near painful. But he lets Jakub go through it until he relaxes, hands going slack.

Then he sucks, hard.

It drives Jakub crazy all over again, and as much as he loves torturing him, he’s got another boy to attend to. He pushes his ass toward Chris, again, encouraging. When he doesn’t do anything right away, Andre pops off of Jakub, despite his whines, and turns his head until he can glare at Chris.

“Well, are you going to fuck me or not?” Then, he searches until he finds Nicke, who is definitely watching _him_ , but who definitely has his dick in Alex’s mouth. Andre tries to ignore that part (kind of fails, glares a little) and gives him a look, gesturing toward Chris, then promptly returns to Jakub’s dick.

Nicke sighs, holds Alex’s head still for a second. “Christian, please fuck Andre before he cries.”

Which— _hey._ Andre comes up again (ignores Jakub’s protests again) and makes a face at Nicke. It’s not very effective, actually a little ridiculous, considering how wrecked Andre already is, lips long been red and swollen.

“I don’t cry,” he pouts. But then Nicke gives him another wordless look so he stops, considers, and redirects to glare at Chris. “But if it gets your dick in me faster…”

Chris rolls his eyes, slaps his ass once, light, the kind of way that makes Andre laugh more than anything.

“Okay, okay,” Chris huffs, “Someone toss me a condom?”

Tom fishes one out from somewhere and tosses it over. Chris goes quickly, tearing it open and rolling it down. By the time it’s on, Nicke’s found a chance to throw the lube at him, so he squeezes that on, too, all while Andre works at Jakub’s cock.

Andre’s pretty focused on it, has his eyes shut while he concentrates, just starting to bob lower and lower, taking most of Jakub down by now. But Chris doesn’t give him warning, save for the feeling of his dick lined up at Andre’s hole.

He pushes in, just a little bit at first, pausing for Andre, who groans with Jakub’s cock in his mouth, the vibrations uninhibited, causing a string of curses to leave Jakub’s mouth. Andre revels in it, holds himself down on Jakub’s dick while he focuses on relaxing, on opening up for Chris.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris pants, “that’s perfect, ‘Dre. Fucking perfect.”

And then the tug in Andre’s hair relaxes, fades into a scalp massage, firm but gentle fingers. It’s Jakub, breathy but soft, “Yeah, fucking perfect.”

Andre _beams_ , the pride swirling in his stomach, swirling in his head. It’s good. This is good. He feels fucking golden, and he doesn’t he think it could get much better than this.

But then Nicke speaks up, of course he does, and Andre realizes that it does indeed get better.

“Proud of you, Andre. You’re so good, baby.”

It’s from across the room, and accompanied by the groans and whines that Alex pulls out of him, that he pulls out of Alex, but the praise is so good that it can’t be tainted. It fills Andre with something, something intense that he can’t quite name, but something that he absolutely revels in, nonetheless.

Chris has got his hands on Andre’s hips now, pulling him into his thrusts, hard, and on the right side of rough. He doesn’t hold back, hips slapping lewdly against the curve on Andre’s ass. His cock drags over Andre’s prostate on more passes than it doesn’t, winding Andre up and up and up.

On one particularly hard thrust, Andre whines, loud and throaty, resonating around Jakub. He must be on the edge because he tries to pull back, taps Andre on the head in some semblance of a warning. But Andre’s ready, speeds up, instead, and sucks as hard as he can, running his tongue along the underside of Jakub’s dick and then hallowing his cheeks.

It’s more than enough to send Jakub over the edge, and Andre tries to swallow, he really does, and he gets most of it, but more escapes, runs down his chin and onto the floor. Jakub’s blissed, but still manages to get embarrassed, awkwardly trying (and failing) to clean it up.

Andre lets him scramble, if only because the feeling of Chris ramming into him from behind is now that much more intense with nothing else to focus on. He doesn’t even care about the come on his face, not when Chris is fucking little noises out of him, leaving him breathless.

(“It’s fine, V,” Tom says, a hand on his shoulder to pull him away. “Don’t worry about it, Andre’s into it.”

He’s not wrong.)

Chris leans over him, pressing their skin together so he can grind into Andre while placing little kisses along his shoulder. He leans up until he can murmur in his ear. “Your goals were so fucking hot, ‘Dre. Got me so hard just watching you. Wanted to do this all night.”

“Yeah?” Andre manages between breaths. He’s got his arms folded in front of him now, head resting on his forearms, tilted to the side. “Then give it to me.”

Chris doesn’t need to be told twice, rests his forehead on Andre’s shoulder and concentrates on fucking into him, falling out of rhythm as he chases his orgasm. Andre helps him along, clenching on his cock and letting the noises flow freely from his lips.

So that’s how Chris comes, one deep thrust into Andre, grinding and grinding and grinding until he rides it out, left absolutely breathless. He stays there for a minute, just to recollect himself, and Andre lets him, appreciates the feeling of a cock still inside of him while he still can.

Eventually Chris finds the strength to pull out, so Andre flips over to his back, erection flopping to rest on his stomach. He knows he looks like a mess, he definitely feels like a mess, but the break is kind of nice.

Chris kisses him once, pats him on the side like a good bro, then gets up. Andre watches him peel off the condom and tie it off, throwing it out with a grimace. He heads to the bathroom in the back. Andre watches him leave, his breath and his heart rate beginning to mellow out.

Once Chris is out of sight, Andre scans the room, looks to see who’s left, looks to see who looks eager. He lingers for a second too long on Nicke, who isn’t even looking back. Alex is in his lap now, but it’s whatever. He moves on before they catch him staring.

And then there’s Braden, watching him carefully. Andre blinks up at him, angling so his lashes flutter in the way that they do, the way that always works in his favor. Braden takes a deep breath with his whole body, and Andre knows he’s got him.

“Yeah?” Braden says, almost too quiet. But Andre reads his lips, nods and cocks his head, silently calling him over.

But Braden shakes his head, even as he stands. He comes to Andre, holds out his hand to help him up. Andre winces as he stands, feels the pang of his activities in his back, fresh. Braden keeps his steady, rubs a soothing circle on his shoulder.

“How do you want…?” Andre trails off, leaning into Braden, expecting him to lead.

Braden doesn’t say anything, just wraps a stabilizing arm around him and guides him to the middle of the lounge, where there’s a table set up. It’s littered in plastic cups and beers, but Braden starts to clear it off, wrangles some of the other guys into it, too.

It clears quickly enough, and Andre gets it.

“I’m gonna break it,” he makes a face. Andre knows that his build isn’t comparable to Braden Holtby, but he knows that he’s still a professional hockey player. It’s a genuine concern.

“No you won’t,” Braden replies easily. “You still trust us?”

Yeah, alright. Andre nods, and figures he’s going to get off either way. And if the table breaks, he tried to warn them, he did his part.

But really, he’s mostly persuaded by the glance he steals of Braden’s erection, tenting in his slacks.

Braden goes more for the physical cues, manhandles Andre until he can lean him back onto the table, laid out for the whole team to see. He repositions Andre’s arms until his wrists are crossed over his head. Braden looks around the room, but Tom is already moving, grabbing Andre’s wrists and holding them there, firm.

Quickly, Braden undoes his pants, takes out his cock without fully undressing. He already has a condom, snatched from somewhere around the room, and wastes no time in covering up. He has the lube, too, scooped off the floor from where Chris had left it.

Andre is more than stretched out by now, but Braden dribbles a new batch of lube over him anyway, pushes it in with one finger, thick and warm. Andre bites on his lip, shuts his eyes.

He feels Braden spread his knees further, pushing them up by his thighs. And then there’s the slight pressure, the nudge of the tip at his entrance. Andre squirms, not quite sure if he’s leaning into it or away.

“Is this good?” Braden asks, and Andre huffs, desperate. Nods his head vigorously.

“Just. Please,” Andre whines, tugging at Tom’s grip on his wrists.

“Yeah, okay,” Braden sighs, sinking into Andre. He doesn’t wait, but steadily pushes in, slow enough that Andre can take it.

He’s thicker than Chris, so the stretch is so much _more_ , and all Andre can feel is the slide of Braden’s cock over his rim, already sensitive. He doesn’t even try to reign in his whines, keens freely.

Andre keeps his eyes shut for the most part, just because he’s so overloaded in feelings and sensations, but he blinks a couple times here and there, catches Tom above him, watching him, sated but yet still mesmerized. It’s a lot of attention aimed directly at him, and it makes Andre feel that much more.

Which is perfect timing for Braden to pull him closer, dragging him down the table and folding his legs up higher. He uses his grips on Andre’s thighs as leverage, grip so strong it’ll probably leave bruises, shaped in his fingers. It’s a lot to think about, especially when Braden starts driving in harder, faster.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Andre pants, a string of curses punched out of him. Tom grins from above him and Braden groans from between his legs.

“You feel so good, babe. So good at this. So good at hockey.” He thrusts particularly hard, accentuating his point. “I’m gonna make you come, you deserve to come.”

“You do,” Tom adds, hushed and gentle, using his free hand to brush away the sweaty hair from Andre’s forehead. “You deserve a reward for being so good for us. For the team.”

A beat later, Braden manages to hit his prostate dead on. Andre gasps, back arching, whole body squirming. But Tom and Braden manage to hold him down, manage to make him keep taking it, Braden going for that spot every time, now.

And it works, he hits that spot over and over and over again, sending Andre into overdrive. Words are lost on him, even as Tom and Braden continue to babble praises at him. It’s just the feeling of pleasure, so close to the brink, that clouds Andre’s mind.

Finally, Braden hits him with just the right amount of power, and it sends Andre over the edge for the second time that night. His come splatters in a mess over his abdomen, the sheer force of it pulsating through his body, hot and intense.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath, but Braden doesn’t waste that time, already pulling out and stripping off the condom. Tom’s still holding him down, keeping him still while Braden pumps himself, hard and rough. It doesn’t take him long — not while Andre’s still blissed out and completely wrecked — to spill over him, adding to the mess on his abdomen.

“Fuck,” Andre manages, only after he’s able to catch his breath. “Twice is… a lot.”

There’s a couple chuckles around the room, but Andre’s still got his eyes closed, doesn’t see who. But Tom’s still there, has already released his wrists, but is running his fingers, soothing, through Andre’s hair, curled from sweat.

“One for each goal,” Tom grins. Andre sticks his tongue out at him.

By the time Andre finally settles and more or less recollects himself, most of the guys have already cleaned up and gone, left the lounge and likely settled in the cabin for a quick nap before they touch down at home.

Tom’s still there, still massaging his scalp and playing with his hair. It’s nice, it’s sweet.

Nicke’s there, too, and makes his presence known by kissing Andre on the nose, then proceeding to clean him up. He’s brought a hand towel, warm and and damp, already using it to scrub Andre’s abdomen clean of the come beginning to pool and dry in the ridges of his muscles.

“I’ve got him,” Nicke says to Tom, nudging him away. “Go take a nap.”

So Tom goes, kissing Andre’s forehead with one last “I’m so proud of you” murmured against his skin.

And then it’s just the two of them; Nicke and Andre.

Nicke takes his time, wiping Andre down, careful to clean around his hole. It’s not the same as a shower, not nearly as satisfying, but it’s almost better in a way. Even if it’s just because it’s Nicke.

Which means more than it sounds. Which means a certain level of care, of gentleness, of lo—

Maybe not quite that, but Andre stops that thought before it can fully bloom. Stops thinking in general, favoring the option of just melting into Nicke’s touch and absorbing the feelings that bob to the surface, as raw as they are.

“You did so good, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you,” Nicke says once he’s done, once he’s pulling Andre up and dressing him into sweats that don’t belong to him and a too-big Eastern Conference Champions tee shirt. He hold him tight, strokes a hand in his hair.

Nicke leads him over to a different couch, one in the corner that’s mostly clean, someone’s blanket thrown over it. It’s easy for Andre to fit into Nicke’s hold, easy for Andre to cuddle in close and find the spaces where he fits perfectly, where he can feel the most warmth and weight around him. Where he can feel the most safe, the most cared for.

It’s easy for Andre to fall asleep like that, to fall asleep with Nicke, who strokes his hair and holds him close. Who whispers strings of praises, ones that that make him feel warm inside, that swirl in his chest and swirl in his head.

He’s just about all the way down by now, already tiptoeing along the edge of sleep, one foot in, one foot out.

And then Nicke’s voice is there, is somewhere in the back of his head, echoing, despite how soft it is.

“I love you, you know.”

It might be a dream, it might be real. But either way, it does something for Andre, something he can’t quite name, but he holds onto the feeling of it, even as he drifts into sleep.

  


 

 

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> • Title from “Gasoline” by Halsey (I don’t have a public Andre playlist yet but you can check out my other Hockey RPF playlists [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/btwfplg2n27rcuem542z1stn1?si=LPi1D51hR2yZCeTIfxD4Ww) on spotify)
> 
> • Working title was “bura bura gang bang” (get it, like chitty chitty bang bang? lol) with the subline “this is an ‘I love Andre Marcus Burakovsky fest’ and everyone is invited” ;-)
> 
> • There's this whole backstory for this universe bulleted out somewhere in my gdocs and maybe one day I'll write the whole thing out. 
> 
> • Come suffer through Andre feelings and CAPS STANLEY CUP FINAL (!!) feelings with me on my fic twitter! @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite/)!


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